Jules' side blog

Word Count: ~1.9K

Warnings: Smut(18+), Max Borman is a warning on his own, power play, pet play, reader is on a leash, meandom!Max, slapping

Summary: Based on ,,Sucker For Pain''(I know, shocking):

,,Take my hand through the flames (I torture you) I'm a slave to your games I'm just a sucker for pain I wanna chain you up, I wanna tie you down''

The cold stone floor bit into your knees as you knelt beside Max Borman's chair, the heavy chain attached to the leather collar around your neck clinking with every small movement. You were only in your panties and your torn shirt, struggling to keep warm. The leather handle of the leash dangled from his hand, coiled loosely, his fingers occasionally twitching to remind you of its presence.

The dimly lit room smelled of Whiskey and gunpowder, a fitting scent for the ruthless hunter who sat above you, his sharp eyes scanning your body for any twitch of movement.

You shifted slightly, the stone floor digging into your knees painfully. The chain rattled, and your gaze drifted to his lap. Heat pooled in your core, a desperate ache that made you press your thighs together. Your lips parted as you stared, craving his attention, his touch -anything he’d give. You let out a soft, needy whine, barely audible, but his head snapped toward you, his piercing blue eyes narrowing.

“Pathetic” he growled, his voice low and edged with disdain. “Can’t even sit still without making getting worked up, can you?” He tugged the leash sharply, jerking your head forward until your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his trousers. The scent of him - musk, cologne, and something distinctly Max - flooded your senses, making your head spin.

You whimpered, nuzzling against his thigh, as much as the taut leash let you. Your hands twitching at your floor, desperate to touch but knowing better.

He made the rules clear: you don’t move unless he says so. You don’t speak unless he allows it. And you definitely don’t get what you want until he’s decided you’ve earned it.

And oh, how he loved to play.

He always won.

“Look at you” he sneered, leaning down, his calloused fingers gripping your chin to force your gaze up. “Drooling like a bitch in heat. You think you deserve my cock just because you’re whining for it?” His thumb swiped across your lips, smearing the drool before pushing into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You moaned around it, eyes fluttering, but he yanked his hand back and slapped your cheek, enough to sting and make you gasp. You smiled at his harsh treatment and looked into his eyes.

“Brats don’t get rewards” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “You want my attention? Earn it. Beg properly.”

Your heart pounded, arousal pooling between your legs as you shifted on the floor, the chain pulling taut. “Please, Max” you whispered, voice trembling with need. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll do anything.”

He scoffed, leaning back in his chair, spreading his legs wider as if to taunt you with what you couldn’t have. “Anything?” he mocked. “Then why are you still talking instead of getting to work?” He tugged the leash again, pulling you closer until your face was inches from his crotch. The bulge in his trousers was unmistakable, and your mouth watered, a wave of heat surging through you.

“Open that pretty little mouth,” he ordered, his free hand undoing his belt with a slow, deliberate clink. You obeyed instantly, lips parting, tongue out, eyes locked on his as he freed himself. His cock was thick, heavy, and already hard. You whimpered at the sight, your body trembling with want.

But he didn’t give it to you. No. Not yet.

Instead, he grabbed the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, and yanked you forward, rubbing the tip against your lips, smearing precum across them. “You want this?” he taunted, his voice a low growl. “Yeah?'' You nodded, lolling your tongue out ,,Then stop whining and fucking take it.”

You surged forward, eager, but he held you back by the leash, keeping you just out of reach. “Slow” he snapped. “You don’t get to rush this. You take what I give you, when I give it.”

You whined as tears of frustration pricked your eyes, but you nodded, desperate to please him. When he finally loosened his grip, you leaned in, licking along the length of him, savoring the salty taste, the weight of him on your tongue. He groaned, low and rough, his hand tightening in your hair as you worked, taking him deeper, your throat constricting as you fought to please him.

“Fuck” he muttered, his hips bucking slightly. “That’s it. Keep going, you little bitch.” The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your core clenching as you bobbed your head, drool dripping down your chin, and onto the floor.

But Max wasn’t gentle. He never was. As he grew impatient, he took control, gripping your head with both hands and thrusting into your mouth, hard and unrelenting. You gagged, tears sliding down your face, but the way he growled in pleasure, the way his eyes burned with possession, made it all worth it. You were his, and he was making sure you knew it.

He pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping, your lips swollen and slick. “Up” he barked, yanking the leash to pull you to your feet. Your legs wobbled, but he didn’t care. In one swift motion, he spun you around, bending you over the table, the map crinkling under your palms. The chain clinked as he tugged it, keeping your neck arched back, exposed. You moaned at the domination.

“You think you can just sit there and beg, and I’ll give you what you want?” he growled, his hand cracking against your ass, the sharp sting making you moan out. “Brats like you need to be fucked dumb before they learn.”

He didn’t bother undressing you fully - just shoved your panties aside, his fingers finding your soaked core and thrusting in roughly, no warning, no gentleness. You moaned, loud and desperate, your hips bucking back against him.

“Fuck, you’re soaked” he growled, his voice low and dripping with amusement. “Greedy little thing, already dripping for me.” His free hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he worked you open. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your body trembling under the onslaught. The leash pulled taut as you arched, the collar biting into your throat, a delicious pressure that made your head spin.

Without warning, he yanked his fingers free, leaving you clenching around nothing, a pathetic whimper escaping your lips at the sudden emptiness. Before you could protest, his hand was at his belt, the clink of metal and the rustle of fabric deafening in the charged silence. He didn’t bother undressing either - just pulled his pants down to his knees along with his boxers. His tip already glistening with precum. He didn’t give you time to prepare yourself. With one hand yanking on the leash, he lined himself up and slammed into you, his cock splitting you open with a single, ruthless thrust.

The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, a choked cry tearing from your throat as he filled you completely, stretching you to the point of delicious agony. The old table creaked beneath you, your body jolting forward with each punishing snap of his hips. He didn’t hold back, didn’t ease you into it. His pace was relentless from the start, each thrust deep and brutal, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

“Say it” he snarled, his voice rough with lust as he wrapped the chain around his fist, pulling it tighter. The collar dug into your neck, a sharp sting that sent a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your core ,,W-what?'' You croaked out, tears spilling down your face“Say you’re mine.” he growled.

“I’m yours!” you gasped, your voice breaking as pleasure and pain blurred into a dizzying haze. Your hands clawed at the table, nails scraping against the wood as you tried to ground yourself, but it was no use. Every thrust drove you further into that mindless spiral of need, your body surrendering completely to him. “Max!”

He laughed, a dark, cruel sound that sent shivers down your spine. “That’s fucking right” he growled, his free hand sliding up your back to grip your hair, yanking your head back until your throat was exposed. The leash pulled tighter, the chain cold against your skin as he fucked you harder, faster, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. Your cunt clenched around him, slick and desperate, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “Look at you” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Fucked dumb already, just like you wanted. You're nothing but a needy little slut for my cock.”

You moaned, loud and shameless, your body trembling as his words sank into you, stoking the fire in your core. Your thighs were slick with your own arousal, dripping down to where his balls slapped against you, the obscene rhythm driving you wild. His hand left your hair to grip your ass, spreading you open so he could watch himself fuck into you, his cock disappearing into your swollen, dripping cunt with every thrust.

“Fuck, you take me so well” he groaned, his voice rough with his own nearing release. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like a whore, my leash around your neck, my cock splitting you open.” His teeth grazed your earlobe, a sharp nip that made you cry out, your body shuddering as the pleasure built to a breaking point ,,Maybe I should put a tag on it? ,,Max's Bitch'' what do you think, hm?"

“Max, please” you whimpered, your voice barely coherent, your thoughts scattered to the wind. Your clit throbbed, untouched but aching, your entire body teetering on the edge of release.

He felt it, the way your walls fluttered around him, and his grip on the leash tightened even more, nearly cutting off your air. “Come for me” he snarled, his hips slamming into you with a force that made your knees buckle. “Come on my cock, you filthy little thing.”

The command was your undoing. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, ripping through you with a violence that left you trembling, a broken moan spilling from your lips as your cunt pulsed around him, milking his cock. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, fucking you through it with brutal intensity, prolonging the pleasure until it bordered on pain.

“That’s it” he growled, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release. “Fucked out, dripping for me, just like you’re supposed to be.” With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, hot and thick, filling you until you felt it dripping down your thighs.

He stayed there for a moment, panting, his grip on the leash loosening slightly as he caught his breath. You collapsed against the table, your body spent, your mind a haze of pleasure and submission. He leaned down, his lips brushing the back of your neck, a rare moment of softness before he pulled out, leaving you empty and aching.

“Don’t move” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous as he tugged the leash one last time. “We’re not done yet.”

≽^-⩊-^≼ Taglist: @tjwritesfanfics @emmadellaposta-blog @that-one-tired-ace @roseglass-writings @bluestar019 @adam-stanheight-lover @babybluebex @littlemsnobody1999 @captainthomasrobbie @sweetums0kitty @mythicalcowboyatheart @unovasweetheart @mandyluvsharmon @Aidxnmeadxws  ♡

"omg he's so hot...omg he's a fucking psycho.... omg he's a hot psycho *blushes uncontrollably*"

Submissive Tryst FTW!

28 - "This is why I get off to you every night by myself

38 - "Look at you.... you think you're in control"

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Sub!Tryst, Dom!Fem!Reader, male masturbation, edging, unprotected p in v (plz be safe yall), overstimulation, nipple play

18+🤭

Two best friends break the rules with mirror sex, filthy mouths, and zero self-control.

“You know,” you said, sprawled on Erik’s bed , “this mirror in front of your bed is freaky as fuck.”

He didn’t look up from his iPad, fingers still sketching lazily. “Freaky’s the point,Peach.”

You smirked. “Do those girls really like watching themselves get fucked?”

This time, he looked,through the mirror.

Caught your eyes in the reflection.

And smirked.

“It’s not the watching that gets them,” he said, voice lower now.

“It’s the knowing the other one is watching too.”

You laughed, trying to play it off, but your thighs clenched instinctively. Because you knew exactly what that meant. And now your head was full of Erik behind you, one hand on your ass, the other pointing to the mirror like, “Yeah, that’s you. That’s mine.”

You muttered, “Horny little freak,” and buried your face in your notebook.

But that mirror stayed in the back of your mind like a devil on your shoulder.

Two days later, the apartment was empty. Too quiet.

Erik was out again,probably with lip-gloss girl. You didn’t care. Really. You just kept thinking about how the last time he touched your waist in the kitchen, your whole body short-circuited .

You walked past his door. Stopped.

Stared at that fucking mirror.

Two minutes later, you were on his bed, crop top riding high, fingers teasing the edge of your soaked panties. You moaned under your breath, already flushed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror,eyes glassy, lips parted, the kind of girl who knew what she wanted and wasn’t pretending anymore.

You slipped your hand between your thighs.

Soft circles.

Then harder.

Then two fingers pressing down like you imagined Erik would,no hesitation, just heat and control and that voice in your ear going, “Yeah, Peach, just like that. Show me how messy you get for me.”

You whispered his name.

“Erik…”

And like you summoned him from hell itself-

“…Holy fuck.”

You froze .

Erik stood in the doorway. Keys still in one hand. A stunned, slowly-horny-as-hell look on his face.

“Oh my god,” you squeaked, scrambling to cover yourself.

“Oh my god oh my god I am so going to jail”

“Peach,” he said, voice already shot to hell, “if you apologize for what I just saw, I’m throwing myself on fire.”

You blinked.

“I’m literally fingering myself in your bed.”

“Correction: you were fingering yourself to the thought of me in my bed,” he said, stepping inside, “and I’ve never been harder in my life.”

You stared at him, breathing heavy, heart trying to claw out of your ribcage. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He dropped his keys. “I’m fucking obsessed.”

Your breath hitched. “It was supposed to be a fantasy. You weren’t supposed to see it.”

“Well,” he leaned in, nose brushing yours, “maybe it’s time we made your fantasy real.”

Then his lips were on yours.

And fuck...

This wasn’t a kiss,it was a goddamn reckoning. All the years of teasing, of casual touches, of inside jokes with just-too-much-eye-contact... it exploded into this kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth like he owned it. You moaned against him, fingers clawing into his hair.

“This is such a bad idea,” you whispered against his lips, even as your legs wrapped around his waist.

"The worst,” he growled, grinding against you, “and we’re gonna do it so good.”

He kissed his way down your stomach,slow, open-mouthed, sloppy. Like he was memorizing you. By the time he got between your thighs again, you were already moaning.

"I’ve thought about this.About you. Us. That mirror. What it’d feel like to actually have you.”he said, licking you from the inside of your thigh to your soaked core.

“So now, I’m going to enjoy it and make you beg.”

You did beg.

By the time his tongue circled your clit, your hands were fisting the sheets, your legs shaking. He kept his eyes on you through the mirror, groaning against your pussy every time your hips rolled up into his face.

He loved it.

The mess. The sounds. The need.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured between licks.

“Look at how fucking gorgeous you are when you’re falling apart for me.”

You obeyed-and holy fuck.

Your hair was wild. Your lips swollen. Your tits bouncing with every breath, your face flushed and desperate as he made you come apart .

You came on his tongue so hard your vision blacked out. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He sucked and licked until your body begged for mercy, until you were gasping his name like a chant.

When he finally let up, you were limp. A panting, glowing, overstimulated mess.

But he wasn’t done.

He grabbed you by the hips and flipped you easily, your chest against the bed, ass in the air, just the way you’d imagined it.The way you touched yourself for him .

You looked up-there you were in the mirror. Exposed. Glowing.And very needy and horny.

Erik’s voice was wrecked behind you.

“This view should be illegal.”

He dragged the tip of his cock through your slick folds. “You ready?”

You nodded. “I want all of it. Don’t hold back.”

And he didn’t.

He pushed in slow and deep.His hands gripped your waist, then slid up to your shoulders, then your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

Every stroke was perfectly angled to make you feel it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, thrusting hard.

“Look how you take it. Like your body was made to be fucked in front of this mirror.”

You stared at your reflection,glazed eyes, spit-slick lips, the way your body rocked forward with each thrust,and you almost came from that alone.

He bent over your back, breath hot at your ear.

“You’re never going back to pretending, Peach. Not after this. Not after the way you scream for me.”

You moaned,needy, feral, begging.

“You're so needy Sweets,” he whispered.

“I want you to watch it drip out of you. You're mine to fuck now. Mine to wreck. Mine to put back together.”

You came so hard you screamed. Body shuddering, cunt clenching so tight around him it dragged his own orgasm out seconds later. He cursed and buried himself deep, spilling into you with a shaky breath.

He stayed inside you, chest flush against your back, both of you gasping.

You were melting.

Face down in Erik’s sheets, body buzzing like someone set your soul to vibrate mode.

Your hair was sticking to your cheek. And you were 99% sure your clit had just retired.

Behind you, Erik exhaled a satisfied “holy shit” and collapsed like a plank of wood, face planting into the pillow beside you.

The room smelled like sex, sweat, and what the fuck happened?

No one moved for a solid thirty seconds.

Then

“So…” Erik mumbled, voice muffled into the pillow, “that was probably the best cardio I’ve done in two years.”

You snorted. “I’m literally paralyzed. My pussy’s in recovery. She’s seen some things.”

He turned his head to face you, eyes glazed with post-orgasm softness and just a hint of smug pride.

“She should be proud. She took a damn beating.”

You reached over and slapped his chest. “Don’t talk about her like she’s a UFC fighter.”

“She won the fight though.”

You groaned, laughing into the sheets. “Oh my god.”

You both lay there for another minute, catching your breath. Erik reached lazily under the covers and dragged his fingertips along the curve of your ass.

You shivered. “Don’t start again. I’m still leaking all over because of you.”

He grinned. “Just appreciating the view. You’re glowing Sweets.”

“You act like you didn’t moan like a dying horse two minutes ago.”

He blinked. “First of all, that was a macho growl of victory. Second,yeah, no. I definitely died a little.Think i saw my ancestors looking down on me.”

You laughed at how goofy he was.

Then you turned to face him, sobering slightly. “So, uh… that wasn’t just ‘one time and we never speak of this again,’ right?”

He stared at you like you just asked if water was wet.

“Peach. Baby.I literally made you orgasm while watching yourself in my mirror and then filled you like a Twinkie. This is very much a real situation now.”

You covered your face. “We’re feral.”

“We’re disgusting.”

“We’re also horny,” you added.

He rolled onto his side and threw an arm over your waist. “Wanna shower or just lay in our filth and go for round two later?”

You hummed. “I should shower.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ll come supervise.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Supervise?”

“For safety. You’re very slippery right now.”

“Are you offering post-sex aftercare or pre-shower dick?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Both.”

You groaned. “You’re the worst.”

He kissed your shoulder. “You love it.”

You did.

But you weren’t ready to say it.

So instead you grinned and said:

“You know what’d be hotter than mirror sex?”

He perked up immediately . “Tell me.”

You rolled off the bed with a wince and said "Shower mirror sex.”

Erik’s jaw dropped. He stared at you like you were made of gold and sin .

Tryst x reader (Fakes)

Content: substance addiction, drug dealing, withdrawal, afab reader, teasing, mutual masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (but he does not come), cussing, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, the usual lol.

Word count: 3.5k

The air in the hallway of the building is thick with the smell of bleach and marijuana. But it’s oddly comforting. Within these walls is the one thing that makes you feel better. Makes everything better. And it isn’t drugs.

It’s him.

Tristan Smith, or Tryst, as he likes to be called. He’s been your dealer for two years now. Over the last two years, you’ve shut everybody out, except for him. To you, he was your best friend. You told him everything. But to him, you’re just another regular who spills their life story as if they need to give a reason to justify their addiction. That’s what you think anyways. They’re already giving him their money, and that’s good enough for him.

Despite Tryst seeming like a badass, you’ve noticed that he gives calm and caring vibes as you got to know him more.

Your heart thumps as you approach his door. Torn between knocking and just running away. On the journey to his place, you were determined to tell him the truth about how you’re feeling. But now, standing here, your shaky fist hovering over the wooden door, you’re having second thoughts.

You’re two months clean today. In the last year, you’ve fallen for the man feeding your addiction, fallen for the man who is slowly helping you kill yourself. You can’t do it anymore. You can’t keep denying the feelings that are eating away at you mentally. You can’t keep stuffing them down with the crap you put in your body. Getting clean only seemed to make it worse, because you know now that your feelings are real.

You don’t want to die wanting him.

Fuck it. You’re chickening out. You’ll text him or something. You feel like you’re about to pass out from the nerves. As you turn around to leave, his door suddenly opens. Tryst gasps upon seeing you, his eyes wide like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Y/n, where the fuck have you been? It’s been weeks! I thought you were dead!”

You say nothing. The words form as a lump in your throat, but nothing comes out as you open your mouth.

“You look like shit,” he says with concern in his voice. “You high?”

You shake your head.

“Looking to be? It’s been a minute.”

“I… I’m not here for that,” you finally whisper. “I’m… trying to stop.”

Now he’s the silent one. Tension builds. You expected him to just slam the door in your face, because if you’re no longer a paying customer, then you’re just wasting his time. He doesn’t do that. But he doesn’t speak either. He just looks at you, his blue eyes slightly widened with surprise.

“I’m serious. I’m two months clean now. It fucking sucks. I’m shaking. I can’t sleep. I sweat like hell even when I’m just sitting down. My body needs it, craves it. But I can’t do it anymore, Tryst. I can’t.” You’re crying now, sniffling and wiping the salty tears from your face with the back of your hand.

“You’ve been coming to me every Friday night for two years, y/n. I didn’t see you for two months and I… Fuck, I thought you fucking died, and I felt guilty as fuck.” His eyes drop to the floor as he runs his fingers through his bleached blond hair.

His voice is low. Careful, like his words are a brick about to be thrown through the window of your emotions and break you. He didn’t tell you to fuck off or shove you away and slam the door in your face. You take a step closer to him, and he doesn’t back away.

“I had to disappear, Tryst. I thought it would make it easier.”

“Make what easier?”

You take a deep breath. Then it all spills out of you, and you’re powerless to stop it.

“One night I was lying on my bathroom floor, shaking and sweating and I thought I was overdosing and about to die, and I thought about you. Not the drugs. You. And I realized I didn’t want to be high anymore. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to die like that, with a handful of pills in my stomach and you in my head. I don’t want to die wanting you. Because that’s what it was turning into, Tryst. Not just addiction. Not just chemicals. It was you. The way you looked at me when you handed it over. The way you never told me to stop, but you never asked me to stay, either. I kept chasing the high, and I can’t do that anymore. I love you, Tryst. And that terrifies me more than withdrawal ever did. But I put myself through it anyway. But, fuck, I had to tell you. Because if I don’t say it now, I’ll always wonder if I could’ve saved myself by telling the truth instead of swallowing it down with whatever you sold me. The best part of this addiction wasn’t the feeling I got from being high. The best part of it was seeing you and it has been for the last year."

Thick and suffocating silence stretches between you two. He feels so close, yet... so far. He says nothing. You can barely look at him. You’re trembling, not from the withdrawal, but from the weight of everything you just spilled out.

Then Tryst exhales, long and slow. He backs away, through his apartment door, but gestures for you to follow him. Stepping inside, you click the door shut behind you. The scent of him immediately envelopes you, sharp and musky like leather and cheap cologne. Not too strong but enough to bring you comfort. You’ve been inside his place many times, but God, every time, you’re reminded why you keep coming back.

And you can’t stop thinking about how this may be the last time you ever see him, see the inside of his apartment, breathe him in.

Fuck.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? Tell me that I’m crazy or that I must be high or scream at me to fuck off? That you pulled me in here only so you don’t make a scene out in the hallway?”

“No,” he says, “I’m not, because I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m the crazy one! I fell in love with the person who I was selling drugs to, and kept doing it, instead of trying to get them to stop.”

You gasp. That was unexpected. Did you hear him correctly? Does Tryst have feelings for you too?

He crosses the room and cups your face in his hand. Not rough. Not hurried. Just… steady. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the trail of a tear that didn’t make it all the way down.

“You shouldn't love me,” he says softly. “I’m the reason you almost didn’t make it out.”

You shake your head. “But I did make it out. I chose me. And if I get to choose you too, then that’s just me finally wanting something good.”

His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t pull away.

He leans in, his breath hits your lips, and you both freeze. Everything in you aches. Not the way it used to, the sick, desperate craving, but with need. You need him.

“Tell me to stop,” you murmur.

He doesn’t.

Your hand finds his chest, fingers twisting into his hoodie like your body’s already made the choice your mind is still afraid of.

“I’m not high,” you whisper. “I’m not confused. I know what I want.”

His lips crush against yours before the words have even faded.

It’s not careful. It’s not slow. It’s like a year of silence breaking all at once.

You gasp into him, and his hands are on your waist, pulling you flush against him like he doesn’t trust himself to let go. His mouth moves over yours like he’s trying to devour all your desire.

Your fingers move up into his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan he lets out is low and raw, his chest vibrating against yours.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“Withdrawal,” you breathe, eyes fluttering. “And you.”

Without a word, his mouth is on yours again, hotter this time, deeper… and there’s nothing but hands, breath, heat, the sweet taste of finally indulging in the thing you’ve been craving for so long.

You both collapse on the worn-out couch in his living room, never leaving each other’s grip. His hands are on you, on your hips, your thighs, your back. Like he’s trying to take in every inch of you, piece by piece. You let him, because you’re not chasing the feeling of being numb anymore, you’re chasing exactly this.

“I’ve been wanting this too. I want you. I want this,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips causing every nerve ending to ignite. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“I hope you know, after this, I’m not letting you go,” he speaks softly into your ear, his voice low, making you shiver. You simply nod at him as he stands up, offering his hand. Taking it, you stand as well and follow him into his bedroom. The door is slammed shut behind you. His room smells even more like him and holy shit, it’s… intoxicating. That, combined with the feeling of his hands on your hips as he leads you to his bed, is addicting just by itself.

You gasp as Tryst immediately begins to work on pulling your clothes off your body, like he must have you right this second or his whole world is going to end. He’s swift, but gentle with you as each garment is tossed in a neat pile on his floor.

“Tryst,” you whine as his fingertips contact the bare skin on your thighs. Thank fucking God that you showered before you came over. Because the look in his eyes tells you that he wants to devour every inch of you. And you’re totally inclined to let that happen. He looks at you, his pupils wide like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His fingers feel like heaven, tracing lightly on your bare skin.

Your breathing becomes more ragged as his fingers brush up against the waistband of the only remaining piece of clothing on your body.

“Tryst… I want you and only you…” You mutter under your ragged breathing. Accepting your words as encouragement, Tryst proceeds to slide his fingers between your legs, over your lace underwear to find your arousal. You see a primal look in his eyes, wanting more, and that he is willing to do anything to just make you desperate for the bulge that’s forming in his pants.

You start reaching for the button on his jeans when he swiftly grabs your wrists with one hand, his other hand still resting on your heat. You whine and struggle, but his grip on you is like a vice, pinning your arms firmly above your head.

“Not yet, y/n,” he growls, “you’ll get my cock when I say you can have it, and not a second sooner.” His fingertips dance around the area, teasing you, close, but intentionally avoiding where you need him the most.

He watches your facial expressions attentively as he dips a single finger under the material, grinning as he brushes up against your cunt. You’re so sensitive that just that one light touch makes you moan.

“I fucking hate you, Tryst,” you whine as he pulls his finger back.

“You asked for this when you tried to reach for me before I said you could. Maybe you can make it up to me…”

With that, he stands up, looming over you. His dick is hard, straining against the material of his tight jeans, and you swear you can see the fucking thing pulsing under the fabric. Pulling off his hoodie, he bites his lip. You simply look up at him, wondering what he means by “make it up to him.”

“Take those off,” he points at your underwear, a huge grin stretched over his face. Your eyes widen. Lifting your hips up, you slowly start to shimmy the garment down your thighs, but he stops you.

“Not like that. Get on your knees.”

Tryst doesn’t have to say anything past that, but just by the way he looks at you, you know you’d better obey him, or he just might deny you further. You pick yourself up, kneeling on the bed as you pull the lace fabric off you, picking up your knees one at a time to pull it all the way off you. Tryst’s gaze drops to between your legs, at your arousal practically dripping from your cunt.

“Good girl,” he purrs as he takes the panties from your hand and places them on his bedside table. Holy fucking shit, you never had a praise kink before, but Tryst’s words practically make your knees buckle. You shiver with anticipation. You can’t take your eyes from the large bump in his pants.

Tryst stares at you.

“What… now?” you ask, nervous from the way he’s staring at you.

“You’ve definitely fantasised about me before, yeah?”

“Umm… yes,” you confess, narrowing your eyes. What is he thinking…?

“Show me.” He sits down at the foot of his bed. Just watching you. “Show me what you do when you think about me.”

Oh God. You’ve fantasised about him many times. But in the comfort and solitude of your own bedroom. Alone. Not when the subject of your fantasies is staring right at you. Shyness suddenly overtakes you, and you use your arms to cover your exposed body.

“Come on now. Show me how you touch yourself and tell me what you think about me doing to you.” His voice is low and sultry, and you’re thinking that you don’t need to think about him doing things to you, you can get off just to his voice alone. Fuck. You’re nervous but so turned on at the same time.

“Like… like this? Or laying down?” you inquire nervously, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. Tryst simply points to the bed behind you, signaling for you to lie down.

“I imagine you,” you begin as you shift off your knees and onto your back, “being really dominant and, um… you like to tease me. A lot.”

“Show me,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. He pulls his desk chair up next to the bed and sits down, not taking his eyes off you for a second.

“Like this…” you sigh as you use your fingers to play with your nipples, a soft moan escaping your lips as you arch your back. Fuck it, he teases you in your fantasies, so you’re going to tease him now until he can’t take it anymore, and completely ravishes you.

Trailing your fingertips slowly down the front of your torso, you glance at Tryst, licking your lips at him. Tryst stares at you, and you notice that he’s rubbing himself through his jeans. You can already feel your own arousal dripping between your ass cheeks, and you’ve only just started.

“Then you feel me… feel my body, kiss me… I can’t show you the kissing obviously, because I’m not a contortionist, but like, you get the idea,” you giggle.

As you continue to describe just how bad you want Tryst, you get lost in your own thoughts. You forget he’s there, and you’re just muttering to yourself your own fantasy about him. Two fingers are slick with your wetness as you pump them in and out of your dripping pussy. Tryst makes you keep talking as he groans, pulling his own cock out of his pants and slowly stroking it. This man is going to be the fucking end of you, you swear… You’d never masturbated in front of anybody before, but holy shit. For Tryst? You realise that you would do whatever this man told you to do.

Tryst’s cock is dripping with precum, and you want nothing more than to taste it. And the way he’s staring at you… you feel an orgasm creeping up on you. You slide in a third finger and begin pumping harder, faster, your palm slapping against your clit with each thrust.

“Fuck, Tryst, I’m gonna come!” you wail, your hips matching the rhythm of your hand, you are working your body to show Tryst just how badly you want him. But you don’t stop. You just keep going, bringing yourself closer and closer…

In a flash, Tryst is standing over you, ripping your hands away from your throbbing cunt. He holds your wrists together with one hand as he uses his other to push his jeans and underwear down, kicking them off haphazardly.

“If you come, you’re going to come on my fucking dick,” he growls, forcefully spreading your thighs, and kneeling between them. He’s fully unclothed now, and you can’t help but stare… He is so beautiful.

“Oh, you’re fucking wanting it so bad, aren’t you?” Tryst asks as he rubs the length of his cock up and down your cunt. You respond by lifting your leg up, placing your ankle on his shoulder as you grind up into him, desperately needing to feel his cock inside of you.

As if Tryst is reading your mind, he finally pushes in. You gasp at the intrusion, his girth stretching your walls, and you let out a loud moan.

“Such a slut,” he murmurs, sheathing himself to the base, letting you adjust to his size.

“Only for you, Tryst,” you whimper, “only for you.”

“Good girl,” he mutters as he begins moving slowly, so slow… He’s still teasing you, and you whimper in desperation. Feeling him push lightly against your cervix with each slow drag… You need more. Fuck.

“Please, Tryst,” you beg, “fuck me, please!”

“Y/n, I love hearing you beg,” Tryst smirks at you as he grips your ankle still resting on his shoulder.

But then he moves it away, spreading your legs far apart as he starts fucking you hard and deep, savagely punching your g spot repeatedly. Feeling yourself clenching around him, you yank a pillow over your face and shriek as he thumbs at your clit. Tryst is very vocal, groaning and muttering how good you feel and how perfect you are. Removing the pillow from your face, you make eye contact with him as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in as close as you can. You know Tryst was probably just caught in the moment, but nobody’s ever called you perfect before, and it fills you with a feeling that not even drugs can give you.

“Tryst…” you moan, feeling that familiar warmth pooling in your belly.

“Let it out, baby,” he groans, not altering his rhythm in the slightest, “Come for me.”

As soon as he says that, the waves of your orgasm crash over you. His name leaves your lips, followed by a string of cuss words as you literally see stars. Your body shakes and you dig your nails into Tryst’s back so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke skin.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Tryst gasps as he slows his movements, dragging out the orgasm and the aftershock that leaves your whole body trembling. “Fuck, you look so pretty screaming my name.”

Tryst withdraws from your body, lean down to kiss your neck softly. Then your collarbone, your chest, just working his way down. You let out a giggle as his facial hair tickles your belly. Not breaking eye contact, his tongue slowly moves up and down your throbbing cunt, tasting the aftermath of your orgasm. He caresses your trembling thighs as he moans at your taste. Reaching down, you grab onto his blond locks and tug, eliciting a groan from his throat.

Tryst’s tongue is fucking magical. He grips your shaky thighs hard as if he never wants to let you go as he continues to devour you. Whimpering and moaning, you arch your back as you grind your hips into his face. Practically fucking yourself on his tongue as he slips it inside you, his nose rubbing against the sensitive spot above it.

The next orgasm has you hollering his name so loud that you would worry about if neighbors heard you, if you actually gave a fuck. But you don’t. All you can think about is Tryst. How you’ve been in love with him for so long. How you finally found a reason to get clean and stay clean.

And how you never, in a million years, would have thought that Tryst shared the same feelings as you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Tryst says as he looks up at you, his pupils wide, his lips slick. Those words… you can’t get enough of him either.